


The Ridiculous Buddy Cop Screenplay Thing

by Anonymous



Category: RPF - Fandom, Streamers, Twitch - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Gen, buddy cop nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:13:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Look, this is based on a terrible throwaway in-chat joke about how Dracula and Gorilla would be a great buddy cop movie.  So I wrote it.  As a screenplay, fuck me.  I'm so sorry.





	The Ridiculous Buddy Cop Screenplay Thing

Selected Scenes from

 HIGH STAKES

Or

 DRACULA AND BLACK PERSON, A BUDDY COP COMEDY*

* _please don’t @ me, this was a terrible in-chat joke that I can’t let go of and I’m sorry_.

 By

SOMEONE WHO REGRETS ALL THEIR LIFE CHOICES

* * *

 

FADE IN:

EXT. DRAMATIC TRANSYLVANIAN CASTLE -- NIGHT

Lightning flashes in the background. Trees bend with the wind of the oncoming storm. A wolf howls, etc.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. DRAMATIC TRANSYLVANIAN CASTLE -- NIGHT

 TRACKING SHOT through dim but ornate hallways, and up a long spiral staircase.

PAN TO OPEN COFFIN.

DRACULA, Lord of the Night, Undead Dragon and Impaler of the Impure, Blood Aficionado and Aspiring Formula 1 Driver, lies motionless in his full vampiric regalia.  Opera cape, evil high collar of doom, widow’s peak-- the whole deal. Slowly, his eyes open.  There is a menacing glint in them. When he speaks, he sounds like Bela Lugosi. Or Lugosi sounds like him. It’s hard to tell.

DRACULA

Well, this is boring.

 CUT TO:

OPENING CREDIT SEQUENCE OVER MONTAGE.  Celine Dion’s cover of “All By Myself” plays in the background.

\-- DRACULA terrorizes a picturesque eastern European village. Houses burn, women weep, children cower under their beds, but it all looks a little rehearsed. Mobs march with pitchforks and torches. Some look bored.  DRACULA visibly sighs, looks disappointed.

\--Back in his dramatic Transylvanian castle, DRACULA sits on a crushed velvet chaise lounge. He is drinking a bottle of something red and viscous.  There is a ratty crocheted afghan around his shoulders.  This is all very BRIDGET JONES’ DIARY.

\--As the music builds, DRACULA gets up from the sofa. He pulls a wheelie suitcase from an ornate wardrobe, opens it, and begins throwing things in: several blood-red cravats, a spare cape, several packets of Capri Sun, sunblock, a Romanian passport. The passport flips open. The photo is blank.

\-- DRACULA waits in line for airport security. He is pulled aside for “enhanced screening.” He follows several unamused screening agents back into a secure section, and a door closes behind him.  Moments later, he re-emerges.  There’s something red on his chin.

\--DRACULA has the middle seat in a crowded plane cabin, clearly economy class.  He stares hypnotically at the flight attendant.  

\-- DRACULA is now spread out comfortably in first class. He is wearing a sleep mask and has earbuds in.  The overhead compartment above him, however, bulges. There is a tie, the edge of a suit jacket, and half a shoelace dangling out over the aisle.

\-- Stepping out onto the curb at LAX, DRACULA pulls out a pair of shades.  He is now SWAG DRACULA, bitches.  He loads his suitcase into a waiting Uber.  Moments later, we see the Uber pull over onto the side of the freeway. SWAG DRACULA is clearly threatening the UBER DRIVER, who gets out and swaps seats with SWAG DRACULA.  The UBER DRIVER makes the sign of the cross and grabs hold of the dashboard for dear life as SWAG DRACULA careens into LA traffic, laughing maniacally.

 

FADE IN:

EXT. SOUTHERN CALIFORNIAN COAST -- DUSK.

SWAG DRACULA and UBER DRIVER are leaning up against the hood of the car.  Soundtrack fades out, and we can hear the crash of the waves, the shriek of gulls, and the distant roar of traffic.  This is a far cry from Transylvania.

 

SWAG DRACULA

Beautiful.

 

UBER DRIVER

It is, isn’t it.

 

SWAG DRACULA

It is.

 

UBER DRIVER

So can I have my car back, dude?

 

CUT TO:

 EXT. LA CITY HALL -- DAY.

 It’s two months later. The sun is bright, but the sky is smoggy.  Traffic snarls around the art deco exterior of City Hall. A woman with a shopping cart full of her belongings leans against a retaining wall.  This is LA with its shine off.  We can hear a RANTING VOICE as the camera PANS UP.

 RANTING VOICE

...were you thinking, Deborah? Why are you even here if you’re

not going to do your damn job, you lazy ass, broken ass piece of shit?

 

CUT TO:

 INT. LA CITY HALL, WHEREVER THEY KEEP THE COPS -- DAY.

 The bullpen is a mess. Desks are covered with stacks of forms, half-empty mugs of coffee, and outdated desktop computers. It probably smells like printer toner and microwaved fish. There are detectives and uniformed officers busily working at desks.

 PAN TO:

 GORILLA, veteran detective and king of salt, currently up to his elbows in a broken copier, and 110% done with everyone’s shit. This is his default setting.  As he speaks, we realize that the RANTING VOICE we heard is actually his. No one in the bullpen seems surprised by his disproportionate rage at an inanimate object.

 

GORILLA

\-- trying to do my own goddamn work, Deborah, you gotta give me something here, girl.

 

GORILLA smacks the copier.  The lights flash, and it sounds as though it may be humming back to life.

 

GORILLA

There we go, you can do it, Deborah, I believe in--

 

The copier (DEBORAH?) fizzes. Spits sparks.  Makes an ominous ka-CHUNK ka-CHUNK noise, and promptly dies in a cloud of smoke. GORILLA lets out a wordless scream of rage.  

 PAN TO:

 A ROOKIE COP jumping in his seat to the amusement of his PARTNER.

 PARTNER

Relax, kid. He’s just blowing off steam.

 

GORILLA rips the front cover off of DEBORAH.  The shouting continues.

 ROOKIE COP

But he just--

 

PARTNER

Yeah, that happens sometimes.

 

ROOKIE COP

Sometimes?

 

PARTNER

Whenever a Deborah doesn’t do her job.

 

ROOKIE COP

They did not cover this in the academy.

PAN TO:

 GORILLA, taking a deep, cleansing breath.  He is visibly trying to calm the fuck down. It’s not really working.  The POLICE CHIEF walks over to the smoking remains of DEBORAH.*

* _I don’t know who the fuck the POLICE CHIEF is, so insert appropriate streamer here. Whatevs_.

 POLICE CHIEF

That’s the third this week, Gorilla.

 

GORILLA

The Deborahs never know what the fuck  they’re doing. This is not my problem.

 

POLICE CHIEF

It’s a little bit your problem when you keep killing them.

 

GORILLA

Get me off of desk duty, and I won’t have to.

 [...and here we insert, through gruff-if-sincere dialogue, some traumatic backstory or something, as the tropes demand. Maybe there’s some fuzzy flashbacks, or echo-y gunshots.  I dunno, maybe Gorilla’s previous partner was shot in the line of duty.  Maybe he’s been benched by the department psychologist for a debilitating fear of clowns.  Maybe his salt intake is so high everyone is afraid he’s about to have a massive cardiac event.  Pick a humanizing tragedy at random. I’m not interested in doing this shit _well_ or anything. Additionally, this is where we do some exposition about the Big Case, which I am also not writing about because, again: not interested in doing this shit well.  I dunno, there’s a psychopathic murderer at Camp Crystal Lake.  That’s easy enough.  End result of the conversation, however, is:]

 

POLICE CHIEF

I’m sorry, Gorilla.  My decision stands.

 

GORILLA

But the killer is out there! And he’ll kill again!

 

POLICE CHIEF looks lingeringly at the tragic remains of DEBORAH.  He places his hand consolingly on GORILLA’s shoulder.

 

POLICE CHIEF

I know, Gorilla.  I know.

 

CUT TO:

 INT. A DINGY DIVE BAR -- NIGHT.

 GORILLA sits at the bar, drinking a beer or four to drown his sorrows. The place is nearly empty, except for a couple of old timers who might actually be dead, but their BAC is preventing them from decaying. The bartender has a neck tattoo. (It reads HAT<3, because I just saw BABY DRIVER and cannot resist.)   Somewhere behind him, a guitar is being tuned and a distinctive voice speaks into a shitty mic.

 

SWAG DRACULA

Check, check, one-two--

 

GORILLA glares at NECK TATTOO BARTENDER.

 

GORILLA

Since when have you had open mic night?

 

NECK TATTOO BARTENDER

Since this jackass set up and decided we did.

 

GORILLA

Why don’t you just kick him out?

 

NECK TATTOO BARTENDER

There are some types of crazy I don’t mess with, man.

 

GORILLA turns, and sees SWAG DRACULA, still as Nosferatu-ish as ever, if Nosferatu played a beat up acoustic guitar and wore Ray-Bans from the 80s.

 

GORILLA

What the fuck.

 

SWAG DRACULA strums a little.  The A string is super flat.  He doesn’t seem to notice.

SWAG DRACULA

It is good to see you again, my friends. What a great crowd tonight--

 

GORILLA

What the fuck.

 

SWAG DRACULA

\--anyway, here’s “Wonderwall.”

 

SWAG DRACULA does, in fact, launch into “Wonderwall.” It’s not awful, if you can get past the absurdity and flat A string.  GORILLA looks back to NECK TATTOO BARTENDER in disbelief.

 

NECK TATTOO BARTENDER

Actually, his Disney repertoire is pretty good.

 

GORILLA shakes his head and taps his empty glass.  NECK TATTOO BARTENDER fills it up again.

QUICK CUT TO:

 A group of six or seven SHADY CHARACTERS entering the door. They’re laughing loudly, talking shit, and several have suspicious lumps at their waistbands.  GORILLA eyes them carefully as they approach the bar.  It seems he recognizes a few-- perhaps from mugshots?

 SHADY CHARACTER #1

My boys and I are thirsty.

 

NECK TATTOO BARTENDER

What’ll it be?

 

SHADY CHARACTER #1

A round of shots and a couple of pitchers of beer--

 

SHADY CHARACTER #2

Actually, I’ll have a kalimoxto.

 

SHADY CHARACTER #3

Fuck off, Frank.

 

SHADY CHARACTER #2/ FRANK

I happen to like them.

 

SHADY CHARACTER #3

You’re disgusting.

 

FRANK

Say that again to my face, bitch.

SHADY CHARACTER #3 takes a step into FRANK’s personal space bubble.  

QUICK CUT TO:

 

GORILLA’s hand drifting down to his belt where his police-issue piece is hidden behind his jacket.  

QUICK CUT TO:

 SWAG DRACULA is still singing about winding roads and blinding lights, but he’s watching the action at the bar with increasing interest.

 PAN TO:

 SHADY CHARACTER #3

Only a fucking taste-blind asshole would mix red wine with Coke.

 

FRANK

It’s popular in the Basque region of Spain, okay?

 

SHADY CHARACTER #3

You’re not fucking Spanish, Frank. You’re just a fucking hipster.

 

FRANK

...you did not just call me that.

 

FRANK throws a punch.  SHADY CHARACTER #3 returns the favor.  Soon, all of the SHADY CHARACTERs are involved in a no-holds-barred fight.  Tables flip.  A knife or two comes out.  GORILLA sighs, downs the rest of his drink, and pulls out his badge and piece.

 GORILLA

Police! Break it up, assholes! Drop your weapons, and get down on the floor!

 

The SHADY CHARACTERs stop beating the shit out of each other, and turn to look at GORILLA.  A number of hands reach for bulges in waistbands.  GORILLA wraps his hands around his gun. It looks like this is going to get very bloody, very fast.

GORILLA

I’m too damn old for this shit.

 QUICK CUT TO:

 A flash of an opera cape, and we see that SWAG DRACULA has SHADY CHARACTER #1 by the throat with one hand.  He looks distinctly unconcerned by the number of guns now pointing his direction.

 

SWAG DRACULA

I believe the gentleman asked you to drop your weapons. You should do what he says.

 

SHADY CHARACTER #1

Put me down, you Russian fuck.

SWAG DRACULA’s eyes narrow. He tightens his grip around SHADY CHARACTER #1’s throat.

SWAG DRACULA

Dracula is Romanian, you ignorant peasant.

 

SHADY CHARACTER #1 gasps for breath.  SHADY CHARACTER #3 approaches SWAG DRACULA from behind, pressing a gun to his head.  SWAG DRACULA rolls his eyes.

 

SWAG DRACULA

I’m fucking Dracula, that isn’t going to do shit to me. Does no one read the classics any more?

 PAN TO:

 FRANK, breaking off a chair leg.  It’s wooden and sharp and pointy at the end.

 FRANK

No, but I watched a lot of BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER growing up.

 

SHADY  CHARACTER #3

Of course you did.

 FRANK runs at at SWAG DRACULA, chair leg stake at the ready.  Suddenly, a shot rings out.

 QUICK CUT TO:

 GORILLA, crouched behind the bar with NECK TATTOO BARTENDER, smoke issuing from the barrel of his gun.

 QUICK CUT TO:

FRANK, dropped to the floor, cradling his shoulder.  Chaos ensues.  Bullets fly.  SWAG DRACULA seems to be everywhere at once.  There’s a lot of blood.  GORILLA and NECK TATTOO BARTENDER duck as glass shatters, etc.  Something rockin’ and slightly funky plays on the soundtrack.  I dunno, maybe some James Brown.  I think “Get Up Offa That Thing” would work. After a few frantic minutes of heavy stuntwork which I’m not interested in writing about, the dust clears.  The SHADY CHARACTERs are all sprawled on the floor.  Several moan in pain.

 PAN TO:

 GORILLA, with his gun trained on the SHADY CHARACTERS, emerges from behind the bar, and starts checking the SHADY CHARACTERs for weapons.  SWAG DRACULA helps.  They make a tidy pile of switchblades and guns on the bar.

 GORILLA

You alright, man?  That got a little hairy for a minute.

 

SWAG DRACULA

Rampaging is something of a speciality for me.

 

GORILLA

Looks like. [addressing the SHADY CHARACTERS on the floor, still training his gun on them]

I guess we got to do the thing, huh?  You have the right to remain silent--

 

GORILLA continues to read the SHADY CHARACTERs their Miranda rights.  SWAG DRACULA watches, interested, while NECK TATTOO BARTENDER calls the police.  He looks a little pale and shaky for a dude whose appearance indicates he’s used to some degree of violence.

 PAN TO:

 FRANK, still clutching his bloodied shoulder. He glares at GORILLA.

 FRANK

Why the hell aren’t you arresting Bram Stoker over there, man? He’s a fucking monster!

 

GORILLA

Well, Frank, because he hasn’t tried to kill me.

 

FRANK

Yet! He’s a vampire!

 

GORILLA

Maybe, but he’s also significantly more competent than you boys.  Which I appreciate.

 

SWAG DRACULA

Thank you.  I try.

 

In the background, the wail of police sirens grow.  DRACULA takes a seat at the bar and beckons NECK TATTOO BARTENDER over.

 

SWAG DRACULA

A celebratory drink, my good man!

 

NECK TATTOO BARTENDER

I’m not making that Capri Sun bullshit.

 

SWAG DRACULA

Yes, you are, because it is fucking delicious, and also because you are slightly terrified of me.  

Which is wise of you, my friend.

 

NECK TATTOO BARTENDER’s shoulders slump. He pulls out a packet of Capri Sun in defeat.

 

SHADY CHARACTER #3

What the fuck is wrong with everyone.

 

GORILLA

Hell if I know, man.

 

[...and then SWAG DRACULA and GORILLA become friends and fight crime, etc. Because I can’t keep writing this nonsense.]

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

(executive producer Dick Wolf.)

 

 


End file.
